


Negotiations and Love Songs

by waltwhitmans



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: M/M, otp: wait that's my word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 15:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21478468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltwhitmans/pseuds/waltwhitmans
Summary: The work was demanding, and it was nearly constant, but it was not all-encompassing. Work ended, sooner or later. And when the work was finished he was still alone. He heard love songs on the radio every day and couldn't understand them. It was no way to live.At the start of the campaign, Pete makes a few adjustments.
Relationships: Chasten Buttigieg/Peter Buttigieg
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	Negotiations and Love Songs

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this my formal apology for the last fic. When Pete said the quote below in New York it was like an arrow into my heart. I'm also not convinced that this story has a plot, but here it is.

_ “I’ve got no idea what it’s like to be in love. Like, when a love song comes on the radio and I’m trying to relate to it, I’m just extrapolating. And I just realized that was no way to keep going.” _

_ \- Pete Buttigieg, in conversation with David Remnick, October 12, 2019 _

\--

Iowa looked a lot like Indiana, especially from the window of the SUV driving from the last event of the day to the hotel. Looking up from his phone Pete saw corn fields, mostly, with occasional wheat fields for variety. It was still winter and everything was lying dormant, waiting to revive. In the summer the green corn and golden wheat would be so brilliant under the sun that it would hurt to look at it too long. But in late February there was still snow on the ground and the sky was pale grey. Andrew Wyeth would have a field day with this landscape. 

He had a town hall the next day, and a private fundraiser after. Chasten wasn't with him; he was back home in South Bend. They would have two days together at home before they both had to leave for California. He would have to get used to it, if he expected to go the distance - and from the reaction of the past month or so, it looked like he was going to go a lot farther than anyone expected. And it wasn't like a president was home for dinner every day. 

He sent Chasten a text, not knowing if he'd see it any time soon.  _ At the hotel in twenty minutes, can I call you? _ But luck was on his side; Chasten replied almost immediately.  _ Absolutely _ . He knew that they would never be one of those couples that never spent a night apart, that just wasn't in the cards for them, but if they couldn't be together every night he at least wanted to hear Chasten's voice before he went to bed. 

At the hotel, Pete put the Do Not Disturb card on the doorknob, left his bags in front of the closet, and flopped down onto the bed. It creaked under him threateningly. He took his phone out of his pocket and called. Chasten picked up on the second ring. "So where exactly are you tonight?"

"Uh...Waterloo. I think."

"You're not sure?"

"Were you ever sure of where we were when I was running for DNC chair?"

"Touché. How was the thing?"

"The meet and greet? Good. About two hundred people packed into this brewpub. A lot of them filled out the info cards and some asked me how to donate. There were even a few people who brought a copy of the book for me to sign." 

It did go well. Pete preferred the smaller gatherings over the town halls. He liked looking people in the eye as he shook their hands, wanted to talk to them about the things that mattered in their lives. He wanted to keep a personal touch in his campaign. People weren't going to follow him anywhere if they didn't feel like they knew him, at least a little bit. 

"And you've got a town hall tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, in the morning I'm meeting with the local electricians union, then the town hall in the afternoon, and a private fundraiser that evening. My dance card is full."

"Save a dance for me, babe."

"Always. What did you do today?"

Chasten kept the home fires burning. He was on leave from his job, and he missed it, but the massive undertaking of a presidential campaign took precedence. Once they were in the White House - if they made it to the White House - maybe he could take a page from Jill Biden's book and teach again. When Pete was away, Chasten kept things going smoothly. This week, he'd taken the dogs to the vet, gone to Target a few times, visited the campaign office, and maintained the usual routine of life at home. "I did a little Q and A on Twitter earlier," he said. "I was cleaning and I wanted to listen to music but I couldn't make up my mind. So I asked Twitter what music reminded them of their childhood, like how Reba McEntire reminds of my mom dancing while she's vacuuming. Almost three hundred people replied. I couldn't read all of them."

"What did you end up picking?"

"I may have made a Motown Divas playlist. Lots of Aretha. And I thought about you while I was bagging up the garbage."

"How romantic." 

"Not like that!" Chasten laughed. "No! I was getting the trash together and 'I Say a Little Prayer' came on. You know how it goes."

Without waiting for an answer Chasten started singing the chorus. _ "Forever, forever, you'll stay in my heart and I will love you forever, and ever, and never to part, oh how I love you, together, together, that's how it must be, to live without you would only be heartbreak for me..."  _

"I love you," Pete said. 

"Love you, baby," Chasten said. "Get some rest. I'll see you in a couple of days." 

After Pete ended the call, he rested his phone on his chest and watched it move up and down slightly as he breathed. He was running for president, he wanted to do well, but if he was only ever known as Chasten's husband then that would be enough. 

The next day, he met with the electricians union, held the town hall, and attended the private fundraiser. Aretha was singing in his head all day. 

\--

Pete eventually lost count of how many times he came out. He came out at town halls, at fundraisers, at meet and greets, in meetings with unions and interest groups, to reporters and bloggers. He came out so many times that he started to feel that the words "I'm gay" were beginning to lose meaning. So what if he was? He had blue eyes, he was left-handed, he liked dark roast coffee and peanut butter cups. He felt that all of these descriptors were just as interesting as being gay was. 

He never got tired of saying Chasten's name, though, never got tired of saying "my husband." That would never happen. He wouldn't let it happen. 

It was gratifying to see that Chasten was getting attention for being the warm, open, cheerful person he always was. "I get to watch people fall in love with him the same way I did," he said to Lis, in a car, one dreary morning in New Hampshire.

"That's the mushiest thing you've ever said," she replied, not looking away from penciling her eyeliner on. The curlers in her hair bounced as the car went over a small pothole. "Use it." 

He did use it, and Twitter ate it up. There was a strange dichotomy in social media. There were supporters, and fans, and people who didn't care one way or the other. There were also people who seemed to live only to lurk in the replies to say that America would never elect a gay president and to remind everyone what Leviticus said. A picture of a kiss between them could be retweeted a thousand times; in the past month Pete had muted more accounts than ever before. People asked Chasten to tell them something about Pete that nobody else knew, and Chasten told them that Pete still wore clothes from high school and he wrote beautiful love letters. No one was asking Pete the same thing about Chasten. He could say that Chasten always made sure that his socks matched or that he wanted children so much that it almost hurt. He could tell them about the time, before they were married, when Pete found himself absentmindedly washing a few dishes, not paying attention to Chasten putting on music and coming into the kitchen, until Chasten was holding him and swaying back and forth. Pete rested his dripping hands on Chasten's shoulder blades and leaned into him as Chasten whispered along with the song,  _ I'm gonna keep you in love with me for a while, I'm gonna keep you in love with me. _

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Pete asked.

"I'm never going to let you fall out of love with me," Chasten said. "Peter Paul Montgomery Buttigieg, I'll love you for the rest of my life."

Pete didn't ask what had brought this on, and Chasten never said. A month later Pete bought the ring and felt his heart in his throat as he asked Chasten to marry him. On his knees in front of the altar, he asked for the ultimate, from the Ultimate:  _ God, make me the husband he deserves _ . He had found the one whom his soul loved, and he wanted everyone to love him, too. 

\-- 

When he finally got home, he was wrung out. Iowa was receptive and welcoming but he was exhausted. He turned his phone off as he waited at the baggage claim; nobody was going to intrude on his time that night. Chasten was waiting for him in the short-term parking lot. "How was the flight?" he asked.

"Not bad. I got some work done. Or I was trying to get some work done but Lis and Mike were tag-teaming me with the prep for California."

Pete threw his bags into the back, sank into the passenger seat. He could hear his own voice making the announcements over the PA system: don't leave your bags unattended, if you see something say something. In a year there would be a new voice, a new mayor. "Did you eat?" Chasten asked.

"Yeah, in Iowa. Let's go home."

As soon as they walked in the door Pete was almost barreled over by Buddy and Truman appearing, so quickly it was like they came out of the walls, jumping around and barking. "They missed their dad," Chasten said, stepping around them. "I guess I'm old news."

"Buddy may have forgotten what I look like." 

Pete knelt on the floor and gave both dogs scratches and belly rubs until his knees began to ache. "I'm going to get in the shower," Chasten said. "You should unpack and get your laundry sorted before you get too tired." 

"I'll do it tomorrow." Pete stood up, stretched. "Go ahead. I'll be up." 

Chasten went up the stairs. Buddy and Truman retreated to their beds, and quickly fell asleep, snoring. Pete plugged his phone in to charge, moved his bags to the couch so he wouldn't forget them in the morning, drank a glass of water, had an idea. He found a pint of ice cream in the freezer with just enough for two people to split. Perfect. He dished out the chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream and brought it upstairs. Chasten was still in the shower; it sounded like he was singing that Carly Rae Jepsen song he liked. Pete left his shoes by the closet, turned on the TV, started flipping through the channels. He didn't want to watch anything that was going to make him think too hard. 

Chasten came out of the bedroom in his pajamas. "Yes, I was singing in the shower," he said. "I'm thinking about making a playlist for the campaign. Something to listen to at the campaign office or at events."

"I think you should. You make the best playlists I've ever listened to." Pete held up the bowls. "Ice cream?"

"You know what I like." 

_ Casablanca _ was on the classic movie channel. After they had finished the ice cream Pete put the dishes aside and they lay back, Chasten propped against the headboard and Pete lying on his chest. Chasten was giving off heat like a radiator, and Pete kept one eye on the movie and one on Chasten watching the movie.  _ And when two lovers woo, they still say I love you, on that you can rely, no matter what the future brings, as time goes by _ , Dooley Wilson sang, as Rick walked into the Café Américain and saw Ilsa for the first time since Paris. He idly traced his fingertips over Chasten's chest. Pete knew he could just start pulling at Chasten's shirt, or slide a hand between his thighs, and they could be off to the races. But he liked this too. Just lying in bed together, talking about what made them smile. It was the best part of his day. Lately the practice had fallen to the wayside. Pete missed it. 

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Humphrey Bogart said to Claude Rains, and the credits rolled. Pete forced himself to get up, change out of his clothes and brush his teeth before getting back in to cuddle. Chasten kissed the top of his head. " _ Butch Cassidy _ is on next," he said. 

"You're Butch," Pete said sleepily. "And I'm Sundance." 

"I wouldn't have anyone else." 

Chasten put the sleep timer on the TV. Pete fell asleep right after the card game.

\--

Looking back on it Pete was genuinely stunned at how long he'd thought he couldn't have what he wanted. He racked up achievements to push away the loneliness, made friends wherever he went because he thought it was almost as good as being in love, swore up and down that South Bend was a jealous bride and he just didn't have the time for a personal life. The work was demanding, and it was nearly constant, but it was not all-encompassing. Work ended, sooner or later. And when the work was finished he was still alone. His friends were getting married, having children; he went to weddings and christenings and came back to a house that was too big for one person every night. He heard love songs on the radio every day and couldn't understand them. It was no way to live. 

And then, suddenly but like he'd been waiting in the wings all this time, there was Chasten. The nice-looking guy with the big smile on the app. The man who had survived more hardship and heartache than Pete had ever known. The small town kid who discovered himself on the other side of the Atlantic and spent the next ten years struggling. Pete wasn't scared. He'd been alone long enough that he knew exactly what he wanted in a partner and Chasten was everything and more. 

Maybe for another couple, moving in together after less than a year would seem quick, but they had become enmeshed in each other's lives, and didn't want to be apart. The first weekend Chasten was there, they repainted one of the upstairs bedrooms from a dingy beige to a pale blue. It took all afternoon and went into the evening, and by the time they were finished they were both dotted with paint, too tired to do anything but sit side by side on the porch as the sun went down, drink the good craft beer Pete had gotten at the farmer's market, and watch moths flutter around the light over the door. "We could repaint the kitchen," Pete said. "There's enough paint left."

"I like the yellow. It's cheerful."

"It's a little much before you've had your coffee in the morning." 

"It brightens the room, especially with the dark wood." Chasten sipped his beer. "You know, it's funny. Not ha-ha funny, interesting funny."

"What?"

"Seven years ago I was in the bathroom of my college dorm, trying to stop my split lip from bleeding too much, while my then-boyfriend was banging on the door trying to either apologize or blame me for making him punch me. And now here I am. Living with a man who will gladly debate paint colors with me." 

Most of the time Pete didn't think about what Chasten had told him. It was the way he said it so matter of factly that broke Pete's heart, how he could say that he'd been homeless and abused, and just keep going. It wasn't right. Pete put his bottle down and put his hand on Chasten's shoulder. "I'd never do that," he said, suddenly desperate. "You know I'd never -"

"I wouldn't be here if I thought you were capable. We've been together for seven months and so far the only time I've heard you raise your voice was at a football game."

"It was a bad call." 

"It was." Chasten covered Pete's hand with his own, moved it up to cup his cheek, freckled with paint. "I'm here to stay." 

Pete pulled Chasten close, kissed him on the temple where there wasn't any paint. An old song came to mind, one he'd loved since college. _ Home is where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there. _ He wanted to be a shelter, a safe place, a home. Chasten was going to let him be those things. 

\--

The flight to California was supposed to leave at eight, so they were awake and getting ready to leave before sunrise. Wakefulness was relative at that hour. Pete was showered, dressed, and upright, drinking his coffee in the kitchen. Chasten was running circles around him, double and triple checking that he'd left the instructions for the dog sitter and doing a last minute sweep for anything that could be tidied. "The mess will be here when we get back," he said into his mug. 

"And I'll be thinking about it the whole time we're in California," Chasten said, walking past him with the Dustbuster. You don't want to listen to me talk about a few dirty dishes and the dog hair on the floor." 

"Fair." Pete tipped his head back and let the last few droplets of coffee hit the back of his tongue. Jetlag was going to wallop him and he had to be ready to fight it. "Lis called while you were getting dressed. She said we got the town hall at South by Southwest next month."

"On CNN?" Chasten called from the living room. 

"Yeah. With Jake Tapper." 

"When?"

"March 10th."

"You're going to be great," Chasten said, over the dull roar of the Dustbuster. "You're going to blow everyone else out of the water. You're going to win."

"It's a town hall, not a debate."

"You're still going to win."

"I haven't even qualified for the first debate yet."

"Yet."

The bags were packed, the car was on it's way, Lis was probably grinding her teeth into dust from impatience. Pete wandered out of the kitchen and over to the piano. He hadn't had the time to sit down and play it the way he had just a few months earlier. Truman was in his bed underneath, drooling on a new toy that would probably be slaughtered by the time they came back from California. Pete flexed his fingers, started off playing nothing in particular but quickly realized he had stumbled into "Heart and Soul."  _ Heart and soul, I fell in love with you heart and soul, the way a fool would do, madly, because you held me tight, and stole a kiss in the night. _ When Chasten turned off the Dustbuster, he was humming along. "I know we're making us late," he said. "I'm almost finished."

"I didn't say anything." 

"You were thinking it." 

It was barely dawn when the car pulled away from the curb. The driver had music playing. Pete let his head rest on Chasten's shoulder as Tom Waits's gravelly voice sang  _ Don't you know all my dreams come true when I'm walking down the street with you? _ Pete looked up, caught Chasten's eye and made him smile that same big smile he'd seen in the picture on Hinge less than four years earlier. They would be in California in a few hours, where it would be warm and sunny, and in a couple of weeks they were going to Austin for the town hall. The passing streetlights threw yellow light into the car. Outside, the winter landscape looked a lot like Iowa. Pete let his eyes close. Chasten would wake him when they got to the airport. 

**Author's Note:**

> The songs in order are Aretha Franklin, "I Say a Little Prayer"; The National, "Dark Side of the Gym"; "As Time Goes By" from Casablanca; Talking Heads, "This Must be the Place"; Hoagy Carmichael, "Heart and Soul"; and Tom Waits, "Jersey Girl."


End file.
